Seedheads Carry My Breath Across Dunes
I arrive at the northernmost point of Cape Cod
a salt-eaten fence sheltering / small red flowers
tongued by the sun
I romanticize danger until my collarbones start to hold it
& collapse on sand
My camera becomes a time machine a lake that washes my body toward song I wake in the backseat of a car nearly homeless / my flesh losing its instructions tossed from apartment to apartment my atoms scatter in rented air a lighthouse flashes / my right eye ten stars revoked I drop my phone & search for it along the shore I throw a seashell & wind returns it as receipt Clouds go gray each tide touches my lips My debit drifts / somewhere on the road & one earring slips from my ear into the reeds
My camera becomes a time machine a lake that washes my body toward song I wake in the backseat of a car nearly homeless / my flesh losing its instructions tossed from apartment to apartment my atoms scatter in rented air a lighthouse flashes / my right eye ten stars revoked I drop my phone & search for it along the shore I throw a seashell & wind returns it as receipt Clouds go gray each tide touches my lips My debit drifts / somewhere on the road & one earring slips from my ear into the reeds
Hermelinda Hernandez Monjaras was born in Oaxaca, Mexico, and identifies as both an indígena and an undocumented poet of Zapotecan descent. Her work explores immigration, identity—including her Zapotecan heritage and the challenges of being a DACA recipient—and trauma, using diverse artistic and visual elements. Hernandez Monjaras earned an MFA in Creative Writing from California State University, Fresno.
